There Falls The Shadow
by TheVelvetDusk
Summary: "Get her inside. Wrap her up and pretend. Pretend that nothing has changed." A look inside Toby's head, post-3x13 (This Is A Dark Ride). Spoby oneshot, title inspired by The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot.


**_Prompt: A Toby-reaction after the Halloween train. Spencer was beaten up enough that she would've had strangulation-bruises on her neck, and the Queen of Hearts knee-ed her pretty hard in the stomach, as well as throwing her into walls. We know from Mona that the A-team (at least as far as she and Toby were concerned) weren't behind the Queen of Hearts attack, so Toby obviously didn't know it was happening._**

_Disclaimers:_

_1. __This is the first time I have EVER gone off of a prompt. Thank you **nevermindthebuttocks** for trusting me with this! I am literally so nervous about screwing it up for you!  
__2. __I realized about 5 pages in that I had no idea where I thought this fic was going. Based on the plot of season 3, I obviously couldn't have Toby confess anything to Spencer…so I was like oh crap how do I see this ending? Sorry that it isn't the happiest of tales :(  
__3. __Sadly, I don't own these characters or any PLL related plots. _

* * *

What was it that they said about intentions? Something about the road to hell being paved with good ones?

Well forget the road to hell. He was already there. It was as if he could feel the flames licking at his heels.

But the girl next to him, the one who could somehow rip him to shreds and simultaneously glue him back together with just one look, was oblivious to his inner turmoil. It was quite the feat actually. If it weren't for the landfill-sized heap of guilt weighing heavily upon his chest, he'd actually be congratulating himself for pulling something over on her. She was sharper than any blade, a glowing comet of knowledge that refused to be extinguished. Almost an entire month had passed since that first reunion and his cover had yet to be blown. And here he didn't think his mask of innocence would hold up for more than a few hours. Surely she'd noticed the way his heart raced uncontrollably with each lie. He was a continuous fray of sporadic fault lines. His words sputtered and his tongue went dry as beads of sweat pooled at his temples. Although the phrase turned his stomach after the night they'd just endured, he had to think it anyway—he was a walking train wreck.

Spencer sighed and squirmed, her fingers twitching from their spot between his. He wanted so badly to ask what was wrong, but he had a feeling that the easier question would be something more like, _what was right_? He didn't ask either of the two, though. Those were the terms, the contract he had drafted between his head and his heart. His new role was that of the ignorant boyfriend. Caring hadn't gotten him anywhere. He could care and care and care, could bleed all over the place with the vastness of his caring. It made no difference. She would clamp her lips together and drown herself in self-sacrifice before she'd speak a word of truth. There was nothing in that.

His tires crunched over the decay of October leaves that lined her drive. Not a single light was on, but that was to be expected. She had disclosed that detail in the first breath of her invitation. Well, it was phrased as an invitation, but that didn't even begin to cover it. There was a warbling line of despair in her voice that she rarely allowed, a quiet declaration of _please don't leave me alone tonight._ He had no problem obliging her request. In fact, part of him wished to rejoice in what an optimist would define as a small victory. She actually wanted his company in the aftermath of whatever form of terror had occurred. She needed something, some concrete evidence of security or sanity or comfort. Judging by the crackled tone she'd used, the prospect of being home alone was not a welcomed one.

It backed up everything else he'd already pieced together. There was more to it than Ali's body turning up in that ice cooler, something beyond Aria's near-death experience. He couldn't say what exactly...but it was there. Spencer was thinly spread, a grim mix of shaking bones and splintered nerves. It brought a different night to mind, a long ago scene that involved her crouching fearfully in her own kitchen with a knife in hand. He hadn't liked it then and he liked it even less now.

God, he'd been naïve in those early days. Everything had changed in the time that had passed since. He _knew_ now. He knew and it ate at him every second of the day. It was like a poisonous venom inside of him that couldn't be sucked out. A poisonous venom that came with a black hood, leather gloves, and an eroding conscious.

"Toby?"

She was afraid. He could hear a world of horrors in only two simple syllables. The worst part? She should be afraid, much more terrified than she even realized. She was sitting side by side with the devil, her hand intertwined with the ugliest of enemies.

But that wasn't why she'd spoken his name. It was because he'd cut the engine to his truck without making any effort to exit it.

_Get her inside. Wrap her up and pretend. Pretend that nothing has changed._

He didn't try to explain. He saved his lies for when they really mattered.

"Stay here. I'll come around."

On a normal night, she would have protested against any brand of chivalry that undermined her feminist stance. Tonight wasn't normal. Tonight had her spooked.

She looked like a faultless queen when he reached the passenger door, her perch high and seemingly unreachable. Those big doe eyes poured over him as if he was a white knight coming to deliver her to a place of solitude. Too bad he was blacker than the blackest of traitors. Her slender hands gripped his shoulders and he played his part, the calloused skin of his finger tips fitting over her satin-covered hips. Lifting her from the truck required no effort. She was too light for her own good. And much, much too beautiful. So beautiful that it hurt him in the most unsuspecting ways.

After her feet were solidly planted, he wordlessly offered his hand. "Let's get you inside. You have to be freezing in that dress."

She nodded. Her throat bobbed as she let her eyes flicker past him and onto the looming fortress of a home. Once again, he squelched the urge to request an explanation for all of the hesitancy. It would be a futile venture. So he just tugged her stiff form toward the back entrance, choosing practical avoidance over empty questioning. This was all he was able to offer—a change of clothes, a cup of hot apple cider, a shoulder to lean on—anything else was beyond his reach.

And he was boiling on the inside. Because he was _supposed_ to be anticipating the threats that were waged against her. He was in a position to deflect all evil intent. His mission was to gain insight, to become dark for the purpose of exposing it. What **was** he doing? Really? How could he keep from throttling Mona into eternity the next time he saw her? Spencer had suffered tonight and he'd been powerless to stop it. He was as useless as he'd always been, completely blindsided.

"Hey, you said you could stay, right?"

It was the sweetest and most fragile sound. It almost brought him to his knees. He was acting like a total head case, stooping mindlessly in the doorframe like he was about to bolt.

_She needs you to be hers tonight_. _Hers, not theirs._

He could manage that. It's all he wanted to be anyway. Hers, hers, hers.

"Yeah, of course. Sorry...I was just thinking about...all of it."

She eagerly accepted that pathetic excuse with a wobble of her head. "This wasn't the Halloween date I'd hoped for. It was supposed to be fun. Sor—"

"Don't say it." The words sprang out of him like lightning. Remorse was only in his vocabulary now, not hers. "You have nothing to apologize for."

The firmness behind his plea seemed to earn a flash of confusion in her expression, but she didn't comment. Toby forced himself away from the door, decisively exchanging one façade for another. She deserved his full focus. Well actually, she deserved a whole lot more than that.

"Come on," he murmured as he gathered her into a swaying hug. "Why don't we go upstairs, get you into something more comfortable, and forget about the rest of the world for a few hours."

Her willowy arms wound tightly around him. "That sounds perfect."

His lips danced over the top of her head, an impractical piece of him wishing that the mere action could serve as a remedy for his aching soul. He'd give everything to absorb her goodness, to let it restore him deep down at the core.

She led him upstairs, flipping on every last light switch on their way to her room. Her heels thudded softly against the carpet as she discarded them. Her netted hair piece and silky gloves were next, falling poetically to the rich duvet cover. He was too taken with her to even think about changing his own clothes. Her lips were still stained with the ghostly remainder of red lipstick, and even without the additional height of those vintage peep toe pumps, her legs were still endlessly long. It didn't help that the midnight colored dress featured a rather distracting slit, showcasing an elongated view that stretched far above her knee. His eyes had nearly bulged out of his head when he'd first picked her up earlier in the evening.

"Tobes? Did you hear me? I said that you can check the top drawer for something to wear. That's where I stash the stuff you leave behind."

On any other occasion, he would have incessantly teased her for the phrasing of that statement. The stuff he _left behind_? More like the stuff she swiped from him when he wasn't paying attention.

But his mind was far from a playful retort. The lamplight was glowing around her, sparking against her ivory skin and underlining the thick lashes that framed her soulful eyes. Her coppery waves were tousled slightly on the ends and his fingers yearned to get lost in their familiar tangles. He could see that she was beginning to fidget bashfully under his penetrating gaze, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. It only took two steps to reach her, one hand seeking the small of her back and the other working through her long locks. Their torsos were welded together. The air between them thinned. Her eyes fluttered closed as he pressed her back against the nearest bedpost. And in all of that, he still hadn't kissed her. God, he wanted to. Being this close to her was enough to send him soaring with desire.

_Son of a bitch_.

It was only when he was this close to her that he could confirm it, to be sure of the fear that had plagued him from the second she'd uttered that dreaded 'let's split up' after Aria had gone missing. Her characteristically flawless complexion was disastrously marred in two big blotches over the span of her neck. The lighting had been too dim in the train car, and he certainly hadn't been able to make any lingering observations from the driver's seat of his truck. But now, in the stillness of her bedroom, it was there. Clear proof of an attack. The edges were already morphing into a garish shade of violet-blue. Someone had tried to strangle her and, apparently, they'd been fairly successful.

They'd bruised her. They'd marked her with their tainted hands.

And Toby had let it happen.

It took more self-control than he had even known he'd possessed, but he didn't react outwardly. There was no yelling, no smashing or stomping; he didn't even blink. White hot rage coursed through him, but his touch was gentler than a springtime breeze as he pulled her further into him.

"You're so gorgeous, Spence." His lips skimmed across hers for a fraction of a second before moving to caress the sensitive spot below her earlobe. "All night, I kept thinking…how did I get here? How am I the one that gets to walk into the party with Spencer Hastings on my arm? Doesn't she know she could have anyone she wanted? Anyone in this room…anyone on the planet…"

He didn't know where these words were spilling from. He definitely hadn't planned for them to come out. They were as true as true gets, spoken from the sliver of his heart that hadn't been compromised by Mona's schemes. He just couldn't figure out how he'd managed to string them together when all he felt was burgeoning anger at –A, at himself, at the universe. Even a little bit of that anger fell on her. Why couldn't she just tell him about what happened? When would she trust him to be the one that she could confide in?

_Maybe when you start being a trustworthy person. Maybe she could tell her secrets when you start telling yours._

She had the magnificent decency to interrupt his internal battle of wills.

"That's ridiculous. I only want you." Her nails trailed up through the back of his hair while her lips paused long enough to lay a tender kiss beneath his chin. "You _are_ the Clyde to my Bonnie, right?"

"Anything you want me to be. Although I don't think things ended up so great for them."

It was a more morose reply than she'd expected. Her fingers clutched at the lapel of his suit, almost childlike in the way she pulled at it. "We'll write our own ending then. Something a little cheerier, hopefully to take that glum look off of your face."

Oh, so he was being that obvious in his anguish. "I'm not glum. How can I be glum when there's a forties pin-up girl hanging off my jacket?"

Her sensual grin—even with an undercurrent of exhaustion in it—was enough to melt his insides to mush. "A fella as dapper as you oughta be used to the attention. Humphrey Bogart's got nothing on you, Cavanaugh."

"I don't know about that. Wearing a three-piece suit sort of makes me feel like a dog on its hind legs."

"Well let me help you out of it then." She smirked deviously up at him before giving his tie a gentle yank. The red printed material slid easily under her ministrations.

"Spencer…" He couldn't let her go too far. He didn't know the extent of the violence against her, but he couldn't risk hurting her in any way. Not when he'd already done such a horrible job of protecting her.

"What, were you planning on wearing this all night?" She bantered back in a husky tone.

He was paralyzed under her touch. The tie was off and she was gliding the already-unfastened vest off of his shoulders. "Uh, no, but…"

"But nothing, Toby. I'll help you…" his dress shirt was half undone before she glanced up at him with wide eyes. "If you help me."

Spencer spun in a half-circle and collected her glossy curls above her head.

"Unzip, please?"

_God have mercy_.

His fingers fumbled bulkily with the delicate zipper. This was still new territory, and nothing made him feel more conflicted than the idea of crossing that line again. The fatalist in him knew that he had robbed her of something far too great. Even worse than that, the same part of him also knew that he'd eventually get caught. It didn't matter if it would be Mona who sold him out or just Spencer's own genius intuition that ultimately led her to the truth. It would all blow up in his face, of that he was sure. And when that happened, these would be the memories he left her with…

But as the dress split open under his direction, all rational thought flew from his head. He loved her and there was not an ounce of falsehood in that. Every last inch of her was brilliant and alluring. She was a masterpiece from the inside out. With a low hum, he dropped a few kisses against the exposed column of her spine, being sure to map out a constellation between the freckles that dotted sporadically over her shoulder blades.

She turned abruptly and released the curtain of her hair, her mouth on his instantly. He had known she wouldn't last long. It was a weak spot that he'd been sure to memorize from the first time he'd discovered it. The warmth of her tongue quickly found its place past his lips and a groan clawed out from deep in his throat. His hands shifted automatically, moving without thought, seeking the straps of her dress and dragging them down over her arms. That damned neckline had been turning his head all night. Now all he wanted was to wriggle it right off of her.

Spencer's lips drifted downward, first to his chin, then sprawling over his neck. Then…nothing but cool air. He had to swallow a disapproving growl as she grasped his hands in both of hers and created a bit of space between them.

"I—I'm sorry…I…" Hers eyes were still closed, her chest fluctuating in riotous intervals, and her dress crinkled somewhere below her shoulders. She was undeniably breathtaking.

His lungs were working in overtime to refill, his brain scrambling to reassemble itself. "No, no, don't worry about it. It's late and we've already had a crazy night. I never expect you to…um, you never have to—"

"I know, Toby." She smiled shyly, her fingers playing with his. "And thank you. You always make me feel so safe."

It was the most innocent dagger to ever stab through him. The most innocent and the most painful.

He cleared his throat with the strain of his dishonesty nearly overcoming him. "How bout I look around the top drawer for some clothes to wear…you know, the ones that I _left behind_ as you put it?"

She chuckled good-naturedly. "Hey, I don't know what you're trying to imply. You **did** leave a pair of pajama pants here last weekend."

"Right. I'm sure the rest of the collection has a list of similarly justifiable stories." Toby bent slightly to kiss her forehead. What were few t-shirts in comparison? How about all that he had stolen? Did he have a justifiable story for his transgressions? He was failing her at every turn and had absolutely nothing to show for it.

"No comment," she retorted with a twist of mischief. She let his hands drop back at as his sides and took a step toward the door. "Now get changed while I grab us something to drink. We still have that cider, hot cocoa, coff—"

"Hey, you don't need to do that. Just wait a sec and we can go down together." He wasn't too keen on letting her out of his sight, not even in her own house. And from everything else he'd witnessed up to this point, she didn't really seem to relish the thought of separation either.

Except she was trying to hide something from him. Her gaze tumbled downward as she faltered. "Um, no, I really don't mind. And I…I actually need to get something out of the dryer before I can change."

He was about to combat her claim, but she perked up suddenly and her words came faster. "Yeah, that's right, I put a load of stuff in earlier this afternoon. I'll just change down there. So what'll it be? Coffee, water, cider—"

"Whatever you're having, okay? And that better not be coffee at this hour…" he sent her an imploring look, being sure she got the message before she took off for the stairs.

Spencer nodded adamantly and closed the distance between them, leaving a short kiss on his lips. "I'm really glad you're here."

Then she was gone in a twinkling moment.

She thought she'd escaped his surveillance. She hadn't.

Toby waited a beat, then snuck across the carpet and into the hall above the steps. Arching his head just in time, his eyes were fixed on her slumping form. Spencer was cradling her abdomen with a vulnerable frown of discomfort. And if that weren't enough to put him on alert, what happened next really sent him through the roof.

The rest of her dress peeled gradually away, pooling around her waist. She shook her head with a frustrated exhale as her fingers traced the outline of another bruise, this one spiraling out from the center of her stomach and ebbing toward her left side.

_Damn it. Damn it all to hell._

He retreated immediately. It took the full five minutes and 42 seconds that she was gone to compose himself. He was fuming as he removed what was left of his costume, thinking of ways to get away with murder as he tugged at a pair of plaid PJs, and drafting a getaway plan that would take them both to another continent while pulling a shirt over his head. Then came the staccato pacing from one end of her bedroom to another. If he had to hold all of this together for one more day, he was going to implode.

But then she floated in with a concealing smile and he flipped the switch.

"Thanks, Spence," he kissed her with a surprising amount of composure before accepting the steaming mug from her hand.

Her slim figure was sheathed from head to toe, an oversized sweatshirt—one that he recognized as his own—falling halfway to her knees and a set of gray leggings extending down into striped fuzzy socks. It was her armor, the shield that would keep him perfectly uninformed.

He didn't miss the irony in it. She was just as uncompromisingly paranoid as he was.

"No problem. I…" she floundered, then took a sip of her cider to cover it. "I, uh, want to be clear, Toby. When I cut things short between us, it isn't because I didn't want to go there. I _wanted _to, really—"

She didn't get the opportunity to finish. He couldn't bear to hear another word, so he did what he'd rather do anyway. Toby kissed her with more tenacity than he'd usually permit himself to display. His lips moved insistently over hers while his free hand skated up and down her back in feather-light strokes. Her searching fingers fisted into the cotton that resided over his heart as she let out a tiny sigh of pleasure.

And when he was sure that he'd convinced her of his unchanging affection, Toby brought his impulses back into check and withdrew bit by bit.

"What did I tell you a few weeks ago?" he whispered, being sure that her gaze was locked in on his. "I know who you are, Spencer. You don't need to explain anything. I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

A visible calm settled over her as she processed what he was saying. "The thing you said before…about not understanding how you ended up with me, that I could have anyone else I wanted? It's true for you too, Toby."

He started to scoff, but she cut past his weary response. "Maybe not in Rosewood, but that's only because they're all a bunch of drones who latched onto a hideous rumor…a rumor that you disprove every single day. Your heart is _so_ good, Toby. Anyone who really knows you would say the same. Combine that with your handsome smile, those vivid blue eyes, and a six-pack that puts a firemen's calendar to shame? You're the total package. I mean, you're even decent at Scrabble."

A million objections scrolled across his mind. She was so wrong. He was toxic, a black mark on her otherwise spotless record.

But then he remembered something important.

She lied to him every day, and usually more than just once or twice. She traipsed around long past midnight, chasing a variety of demons and investigating someone who supposedly didn't exist anymore. Her answer to everything was one sloppy 'I'm fine,' and that was all he ever got out of her. There were moments where it felt like she put everything and everyone before their relationship—her friends, the hunt for Alison's killer, Jason's messes, an assortment of family scandals, and so much more. The pile of 'don't ask' topics was stacked sky high and she was always adding to the list.

And for all of that?

He loved her. It couldn't be more simple. He loved her with the kind of abandon that drove him to do wildly unpredictable things. Yes, he'd made choices that he wasn't especially proud of, done things that robbed him of sleep and sent him to places he never wanted to go. But so had she.

So he was wishing, hoping, and praying that she loved him with the same magnitude. It might take a whole lifetime to earn her forgiveness, but that would be a lifetime well spent. And as badly as he wanted to lay the cards on the table right there and unburden himself of all secrecy, it wasn't yet time. So instead…

"**_Decent_ **at Scrabble? All I get is _decent_?!"

She smirked up at him, clearly pleased with his willingness to walk right into her intended insult. "I don't think you've beaten me since that first time, Tobes. One victory does not a champion make."

His brow puckered in mock hostility. "Yeah, well you've been doing your best to dodge a rematch ever since. Too afraid that I'll prove it wasn't a fluke?"

"Hmm, well we could put that theory to the test, but…" an overly dramatic yawn contorted her features as her arms rose in an arc above her head. "I'm getting awfully sleepy here."

A genuine laugh vibrated through him. She was unbelievable. "That's real convenient, Spence."

She put her mug down on her nightstand and sidled up to him, both of her arms wrapping snugly around his middle. "Are you saying I'm going to have to defend my reputation tonight? Because I'll do it. A Hastings never backs down from a challenge."

"I think it can wait," he muttered soundly as he cuddled her closer. "Let's go to bed. I'm actually tired, not faking-it-because-I-hate-to-lose tired."

Her head nuzzled further into his shoulder and he could feel a smile donning her lips. "To be honest, so am I."

He already knew that, but it was nice to hear her admit it.

On paper, neither one of them should be good at love. There were a lot of scarring past experiences to back that up. His father had jumped headlong into a relationship before the grass could even grow over his first wife's grave, choosing a new bride and a new daughter over the son that was his own. Spencer's story wasn't much better. A house full of petty competition and embedded neglect hadn't done her any favors either.

Maybe they were too far gone. Maybe they were too entrenched in what it meant to be hurting to ever know what it felt like to be healing.

Or maybe they'd make it. Maybe two broken pieces really can form a whole. Maybe it would all pay off and they'd have a happily ever after.

What he could say for sure was this—he would go to the world's end for this one shot at keeping her.

* * *

_Erggghh I am **so** sorry that he was so tortured, but I have this undying conviction that Toby would have been in a constant state of misery during his -A team stint. Please forgive my angst on angst. And as always, reviews make the world go round ;)_


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